Talk French to Me
by Prettylittlepetal
Summary: French accents and a desk.


She's in their office when he comes home. They call it an office, really it's a desk and a book case crammed into the tiny spare room but it serves its purpose. He can hear her talking as he makes his way upstairs, even on her day off she's dealing with one world catastrophe or another.

He dumps his briefcase on this bed, divesting himself if of his suit jacked and wandering down the hall to find her. He probably shouldn't be listening in but she probably shouldn't be discussing national secrets on an unsecured line.

Then it hits him, as he hovers outside the door, not quite able to make her out through the gap. He doesn't understand a word she's saying and _oh god_ , she's speaking French. Well he thinks it's French, he's heard her speak several but French is by far _the sexiest._

He pushes the door open slowly and leans against the door frame, groaning internally as she looks over her shoulder and gives him a smile, her pony tail whipping from one shoulder to the other and back. She probably didn't intend it to look to saucy, but not he's itching to wrap his hand around her ponytail and kiss her senseless.

He watches her, hoping she's almost done on the phone. His belly swirls as he watches her lean across the desk to grab a file marked 'confidential', he's not even sure that should be in their house.

"Merci, vous avez été très utile. Non, non ... merci. Bonne journée, au revoir."

He watches her out the phone down and turn to him with that smile that makes him weak at the knees.

"Bonne soirée professeur." She smiles widely and walks over to him. Her hand coming to rest on his chest and she steps on her tiptoes to kiss him.

He kisses her back, much harder than the delicate kiss she had bestowed on him.

She steps back in surprise at the hunger in his kiss and looks up. There's a darkness in his eyes, (lust). She wonders what's got him so riled up and then she realised that he heard her on the phone to her counterpart in French intelligence and she remembers. It turns him on. This is going to work out very well for her.

Her hands find their way around is neck slowly, and she's kissing him again. Softer than his but still so much _hotter_. She pulls back for air, her lips just a hair away from his and whispers quietly against his lips.

"Est ce que nous allons jouer ce soir?"

He groans, it's audible this time and while his French doesn't go much past _hello and how are you_? he knows she's said something that makes his stomach flip. She's doing it deliberately. If she wants to do it that way then it's fine by him.

There's kissing again, neither of them sure who's leading it or where it's going but they're stumbling towards the desk till she lets out an _oomf_ and the impact of her back hitting hit.

She's trapped, between the desk and his hard body but she _loves_ it and it only makes her kiss him harder.

His hands are rubbing her sides, sending jolts of pleasure through her body as their tongues battle for dominance. It's not the loving kisses that's their norm, but fiery, lusty kisses that only make an appearance when they've gone so long without the chance to revel in each other. Their two young children have a habit of interrupting when they get started.

Her lips are swollen and wet as he pulls back to look at her, their sloppy kisses and nipping at each other's lips leaving her flushed and panting as she lets out a breathy _Henry_. Then he notices the tail end of her ponytail peaking out over her shoulder and he remembers what started this off.

She's suddenly bent forward over the desk before she can comprehend what's happened. She can feel him behind her, his large hands roaming the plane of her back and thighs. Then, _oh_ , his hand inside her leggings and his finger, _fuck_ , creeping slowly into her panties, dancing delicate over the hot flesh.

She hisses as he works over her, his fingers dipping in slowly and then rubbing small circles on her clit. His other had wraps around her ponytail and pulls slightly, her neck moving to the left as he attacks the exposed flesh with his mouth.

She feels the cool air of the room as he pulls her leggings and panties down in one go and _god_ he's hard, _so so hard_ as he presses against her thighs.

His hand fumbles with his buckle, his other creeping under her shirt and pinching at her nipple over her bra. Then he hears it and it's all he can do not to come on the spot.

"Henry, j'ai besoin de toi ... je te veux"

As far as he cares she could be reciting he rosary but her breathy whimpers tell him exactly what she wants. He pinches her nipple harder and thrusts in, his hand fining purchase in her glorious hair.

"You're so beautiful babe" he tell her, leaning over her slightly so he can whisper in her ear. His feee hand caressed her delectable rump as he thrusts and (god) she can feel him. Only he could possibly make her feel so loved as he's fucking her over the desk in their spare room.

"Henry" she whimpers, forcing her hips back to meet his. "Henry I need this, baby I need - _oh_ I need... fuck...you."

And he gives her it, gives her everything he can, his hand squeezing her cheek and tugging her hair just _so._

Her palm slaps the desk and the sheer pleasure coursing through her. She can feel how smug he is, he loves getting her like this and _oh_ she's so close to falling apart.

"That's it" he croons, his finger slipping between her and the desk and rubbing softly where their joined.

He guides her closer, as only his skilled hands and there's stars behind her eyes now.

"Yes" that single word falls from her lips as the world implodes around her and she's whimpering and thanking him.

He keeps thrusting, he knows she can come again. He bites softly on her neck as two fingers rub slowly, riding one wave and into the next.

"Oh, _fuck!_ " she's almost sobbing as she comes again, feeling him spilling inside her at the same time.

He grunts and meets her for a sloppy kiss, pulling back and watching the evidence of their passion trial down her still spread thighs. "Baby" he whispered, the swear pooling in his abs. His shirt, that he never bothered to remove, clinging to them.

She bites on her lip and looks up at him, then whispers softly "Dieu que je t'aime" and leans in for another kiss.

With that sentence he picks her up and carries her to the bedroom as she giggles and kisses him.

He's never been so glad that his wife was multilingual.


End file.
